Alexandra Waring (13 page)

Moving the corporate headquarters seemed like a great idea to Jackson then, a great way to stir up a little excitement, and building a TV network was even better. What could have more noise, distraction, color, lights, action and new women than New York City and television?

Enter Alexandra.

Alexandra Waring was the first woman in six and a half years who genuinely interested him personally in ways other than lust. He had to be careful, though, both for himself and for her. She was young and supposedly attached to Gordon Strenn, and Jackson had no desire to scare her at this early date into rejecting either him or Strenn outright. He wished only to get closer to her, to know her well, to let her know him well, and if she was really all that he thought she was,
then
he would move to take her away from Strenn. And if he chose to do that, he would do so to marry her.

Why not? Thirty wasn’t so young. Forty-seven wasn’t so…

But Strenn was a pain in the ass and Strenn was back from England. Jackson had been overseeing Alexandra’s new apartment on Central Park West—with her assistant, Kate, so it wasn’t as if they had been alone or anything—when Strenn walked in. They had been standing just inside the doorway of the bedroom and Jackson—eyes on the queen-size bed—had been a million miles in pleasant fantasy when Strenn came up behind him and said, “Hi, Jackson.”

He definitely jumped. “Hey,” he said, recovering and turning to shake his hand, “how are you doing, movie man? How’s the Queen?”

“Great. And Lord Hargrave is too,” Gordon said, shaking his hand. Then he walked over to Alexandra, murmured a “Hi,” and kissed her on the temple. It was a perfectly rendered, polite reminder that Jackson was but a visitor on private property.

And then—now how the heck the
Inquiring Eye
found out that he had visited Alexandra’s apartment Jackson had no idea, but the next thing he knew, Langley was flying into his office to announce that his visit had flung him and Alexandra onto the front page. “
ALEXANDRA’S HOMEWORK
” the headline read over a picture of Jackson climbing into his limo. (The picture was at least eight months old.) Next to it was a picture of Alexandra looking wistfully across the page at him—rather, it looked as though she were looking at his rear end.

“And did they say that Alexandra’s assistant, Kate, and Strenn were there too?” Jackson had said, flinging the stupid thing back at Langley.

“No,” Langley said.

“What are you looking at me like that for?” he demanded.

“If you’d stop following her around, Jack,” Langley said, “the stories would stop. If you don’t, they’re only going to get worse.”

“You mean, stop the stories before they’re true?”

“I just want you to remember that this concerns not one key employee but two. And I don’t have to remind you that the miniseries—”

“What are you telling me, Lang?”

“Nothing,” Langley said, walking to the door. “Do whatever you want. You always do.” He turned around. “It’s just not very smart. Not with Darenbrook employees. No matter what she says.”

Langley was such a jerk sometimes. Who could not like Alexandra, except Langley? Mr. Paranoia. Langley seemed to think that Alexandra was out to take over the company. And if there was anyone out to overthrow the company, it was Langley’s pal, Cassy Cochran. Even from WST, where she was still wrapping things up in her old job, Cassy Cochran was either crash-training Langley or negotiating with affiliate stations herself, because all of a sudden there were all these contracts flying through Jackson’s office and they were signing affiliates for the news group right and left. They were up to thirty-nine already and no one except Cassy Cochran seemed to know a whole lot about them. Or at least Langley
said
she knew a lot about them.

But what annoyed Jackson about Mrs. Cochran was that she wasn’t even here yet and he was already hitting heads with her over Alexandra. And this lady named Chi Chi or Cha Cha or something—Mrs. Cochran’s assistant, for Pete’s sake—felt free to tell
him
, Jackson Darenbrook, what he could and could not do, according to Her Highness, La Presidenta in absentia, still over at WST.

“I’m sorry,” Chi Chi or Cha Cha or whatever her name was said, blocking the doorway of Cassy Cochran’s office one afternoon, “but Alexandra’s reviewing some paperwork for Mrs. Cochran and Mrs. Cochran said that I was not to let any calls or people through until she’s finished.”

“What?” Jackson said. And then he smiled, drawing himself up to his full six-three height. “Now, ma’am, I don’t think you know who I am.”

“Yes, I do, Mr. Darenbrook, because Mrs. Cochran warned me that you’d do exactly what you’re doing,” she said, offering a very cheerful smile but not wavering a bit. She was not very tall, this Chi Chi or Cha Cha or whatever her name was, but she did look pretty feisty.

“Well, now, ma’am,” Jackson said, “just what is it you think I’m doing?”

“Trying to b.s. your way past me, just like Mrs. Cochran said you would—so you might as well forget it,” she said.

She was right, because even when he did get past her (and no, he didn’t push her—not exactly) he found the door locked. And even with all the noise—”That’s it! I warned you,” Chi Chi or Cha Cha said, grabbing the phone off her desk, “I’m calling Mrs. Cochran”—Alexandra didn’t, as Jackson thought she would, open the door to see what was going on (although everyone else on the floor did).

“Cassy Cochran’s holding on five,” Ethel told him when he returned to his office.

Uh-oh
, he thought, but decided that offense would be the best defense and picked up the phone. “So who declared war around here? Some lady who says she works for you nearly punched me out.”

“Her name is Chi Chi Santiago,” Cassy said.

“Yeah, well, Chi Chi needs to be tied up. She’s a mean one.”

“Hardly,” Cassy said. “She was only doing what I asked her to do.”

“Well what the hell’s going on in your office that the chairman of Darenbrook Communications can’t know about?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Alexandra just needs a quiet place to work for an hour or two and I told her that if she used my office I would see to it that no one disturbed her. That’s all.”

“Well, I wouldn’t disturb her.”

“No, I’m sure you wouldn’t,” she said, her voice turning surprisingly gentle. “But a promise is a promise and I promised there would be no exceptions—that she would have complete quiet. Please understand—Alexandra’s under an enormous strain and there are some things she has to work on by herself, and I don’t want her to feel as though she has to leave West End to work on them. I’d like her to know she can always find a quiet spot there. And right now, until I get over there, my office is it. Do you understand? It’s very important that she feels completely safe there—that she can be alone for a little while if she needs to be.”

Yeah, well, Jackson did understand, but he sure didn’t like Mrs. Cochran’s idea that “no exceptions” applied to him too. He started to tell Alexandra that, later, when he finally found her down in the newsroom, but quickly stopped himself. Because if there was one thing he had learned about Alexandra, messing around with her work was not the way to her heart, and it was becoming clear to him that she thought the world of her pain-in-the-ass executive producer.

So instead Jackson said, “Smart lady, that Cassy Cochran. I should have thought of finding you a peaceful place myself.” And then Alexandra smiled and Jackson, for the umpteenth time, thought she had eyes to die for.

7
The Ball Starts Rolling

On the second Monday of April, Darenbrook Communications invited several members of the print media over for an informal breakfast at West End as a kind of warm-up for the official DBS News press conference scheduled for late May. Ten journalists came over and ate breakfast in the Darenbrook cafeteria with the new DBS public relations director, Derek Deitz; Darenbrook Communications Chairman Jackson Darenbrook; DBS President Langley Peterson; President and Executive Producer, DBS News, Catherine Cochran; Vice-President and Senior Producer, DBS News, Kyle McFarland; and—on her first day of liberation from her sling—Managing Editor and Anchorwoman, DBS News, Alexandra Waring.

Jackson briefly reviewed the Darenbrook Communications sixty-year history of news gathering and communications in America and how the September debut of DBS News would follow family tradition; Langley outlined the technology that made DBS News possible; Cassy explained how their emphasis would be on domestic news, and profiled the kind of affiliate newsrooms they were recruiting; Kyle talked about how a production team, under Will Rafferty, was already on the road, traveling from affiliate to affiliate, demonstrating the DBS News style as depicted in the
DBS News Practices and Standards
workbook.

“The what?” someone asked.

“
DBS News Practices and Standards
,” Kyle said. “Our bible of how we do things, from A to Z, Advertisers to Freebies to Offerings to Reporters to Zone-Codes-of-Coverage.”

Alexandra cited a few examples of prize-winning local indie reporters whose work would go national with DBS; said her shoulder was fine, thank you, and that, no, they hadn’t finalized the format yet for the hour-long newscast, “DBS News America Tonight with Alexandra Waring,” but they could expect at least four stories a night to be covered in greater depth than they were used to seeing on commercial broadcast television.

“What’s the overhead on an operation like this?” asked a reporter from one of the big financial papers.

“Not too bad,” Cassy said. “While most news networks have to carry the salaries and overhead of their bureau desks, at DBS we only pay the salaries and overhead of our operation here at West End—plus our transmission costs. I can’t give you the exact figures,” she said, glancing at Jackson, “since we are part of a private corporation—”

“Not fair,” someone said.

“But I will tell you that DBS News will operate on roughly twenty percent of the budget of CBS News, and, since you all know that CBS was up to around three hundred million last year”—she paused, smiling as everyone started to laugh—”I am confident that some of you may be able to work out the difficult math on that. Uh
…
” She waited for everyone to quiet down again. “One of the nice things about being able to operate in a sophisticated way on a fraction of a traditional network budget is that, going in, we know that we can survive—perhaps even flourish—on a fraction of the traditional network audience. And that, as you know, can bode well for things like more in-depth domestic story coverage—which just happens to be what we hope will be our specialty.”

“So how does it work? With the affiliates?” a reporter asked.

“Although we don’t pay their overhead,” Cassy continued, “our affiliate newsrooms do act as our bureau desks—meaning whatever news coverage they have is at our disposal. So, for example, if there was—God forbid—an airplane crash here in New York, we’d have all of WST’s local coverage to choose from to use in our national news. Or use a WST local reporter as a live national correspondent for DBS.”

“WST has signed as the New York affiliate then?” someone asked.

“Yesterday,” Cassy said, smiling.

“DBS will act as a kind of clearinghouse,” Langley interjected. “Each affiliate will transmit to West End their stories and film of the day, which DBS is then free to use that day or any other day in the future.”

“What do the affiliates get?” another reporter asked.

“Right now, we’re offering the one news hour,” Cassy said, “and part of the package is a certain allotment of ad time within it for them to sell locally. They keep a hundred percent of that ad money, of course, while we retain a certain allotment of time to sell to national advertisers. “

“The affiliate newsrooms also get access to any coverage we have on hand from other affiliates,” Alexandra said. “That’s what Langley meant when he described DBS News as clearinghouse. So, for example, in Phoenix, our affiliate KZA might see on the daily DBS roster that we have in a report from our L.A. affiliate concerning the Colorado River that we’re not using on the network newscast. Since the Colorado is a big concern in Phoenix, they can call for the report, we’ll transmit it to them and, if it’s appropriate for them, they are free to use it in their local newscast.”

“We’ll also be offering affiliates a film library,” Cassy said, “so that if an affiliate in Florida, for example, wanted to do a documentary on water use in their state and wanted to use the Colorado River as an example of how other states have approached the subject, they could get file footage of the Colorado River from us.”

“From the reports filed from other affiliates,” a reporter said.

“Or just raw footage we’ve stored,” Cassy said. She glanced at Langley and then leaned forward to say in a loud whisper, “Don’t tell anyone, but DBS News has almost fifty million dollars’ worth of electronic storage at its disposal here at West End.”

“What do the reporters get out of this arrangement?” someone said.

“Well, first, there’s the exposure,” Alexandra said.

“No,” Cassy said, “first there’s the bonus money they receive.”

“No,” Alexandra insisted, giving Cassy a playful elbow in the side, “first there’s the exposure. Some television reporters have to fight very hard for exposure.” Everybody laughed, knowing of Alexandra’s problems about getting on the air at her old network.

“And there are the bonus systems being worked out,” Cassy said, “based on how a story is used, nationally, or in how many individual local markets. It’s very complicated—”

“But we have an Accounta-5 TR-587 System—on line,” Langley said, as if anyone could possibly know what he was talking about.

Everybody looked back to Cassy.

“As you know,” she said, “the United States of America is a tremendous geographic area and, to reach the entire population, one has to broadcast from roughly two hundred stations. As you might not know, there are almost as many variations in union and nonunion working agreements at TV stations across the country. And it is only because of our access to the most sophisticated accounting hardware and software systems in the world that we’re able to tailor-make every single one of our affiliate agreements and work out individual bonus agreements with reporters and technical crews.”

“Yeah, but can your computers sign a tax return?” someone cracked, making everyone laugh.

“Let me tell you,” Cassy finally said, still laughing, “I wouldn’t put it past them. And the science editors of your papers are going to be invited to meet with Dr. Kessler—the gentleman who’s responsible for all of the technological wonders at Darenbrook Communications—who will explain the extraordinary transmission and receiving capacities of our satellite, and the impact it may have on broadcasting as we know it.”

She smiled. “Questions.”

Jackson closed the door to the cafeteria and whirled around to face Cassy and Langley in his office. “You!” he said, pointing at Cassy. “I have half a mind to rip up your contract right now.”

Cassy and Langley exchanged looks.

“How dare you upstage Alexandra!” Jackson said.

“What?” Langley said.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” Jackson demanded of her.

“Wait a minute, Jack,” Langley said.

“You wait a minute!” Jackson said. “I’m not building this goddam division to glorify your blond bombshell here, Lang.” He stormed over to his desk, muttering, “This is Alexandra’s show and I don’t care if we have to write her cue cards or stay up all night with her, I want Alexandra to know everything there is to know so she can explain it to the press.”

“
I
don’t even understand all of it yet,” Langley said, “because Cassy here hasn’t finished inventing it yet! And what do you mean, let Alexandra explain it? Who’s going to believe anything that your little girlfriend has to say about Darenbrook Communications at this point?”

“Langley!” This was from Cassy, who until now had just been standing there, listening, looking only mildly fed up. “For heaven sakes,” she whispered, nodding toward the door to the cafeteria, “don’t even kid around like that. If anybody heard that coming out of your mouth
…
” She glanced over at Jackson. “We have enough problems trying to clean up Alexandra’s reputation as it is.”

“Oh,
nice
, Mrs. Cochran, really nice,” Jackson said, yanking his chair out from behind his desk and banging it into the wall.

“Well, you do seem to have your strategies a little confused,” she said in her normal voice, resting her hand on her hip. “It’s not very helpful for our anchorwoman’s name to be dragged through every muck-and-mire rag in the country because the chairman apparently has nothing better to do than follow her around day and night.”

“Look!” Jackson said, sitting down and slamming his desk. “Your job is to run DBS News, so go run it! Stop grandstanding in front of the press, that’s all I’m saying. There’s one star and you ain’t it, Mrs. Cochran. Langley—ya hear me? When we put Alexandra out onstage, I’m holding you responsible to keep Blondie here back in the wings where she belongs.”

“And you better—” Cassy cut herself off, touching the bridge of her nose, murmuring, “Why am I getting caught up in this?” and then lowering her hand. “Look,” she said, quietly, to Jackson, waiting for him to look at her before continuing. “You’re simply going to have to believe that I know a little bit more about this than you do. You’re also going to have to—”

“I don’t have to do anything,” Jackson told her.

Cassy stared at him for a long moment. He stared back. Finally she said, “Remind me—we both want DBS News and Alexandra to succeed, right?”

He didn’t answer. He was glaring at her now.

“And you hired me to make DBS News and Alexandra succeed, right?”

“Right!” Langley said.

“So why won’t you let me?” Cassy said to Jackson.

“Lady, you’re asking for it,” Jackson said.

“Jack—” Langley started.

“No, Langley, wait,” Cassy said, holding a hand up to silence him. To Jackson, “I mean it. I want to know why you won’t let me do my job. Since the day I agreed. to come here I have had nothing but run-ins with you. And what I want to know is,
why do I keep running into you?
Why is the chairman of Darenbrook Communications constantly underfoot? Why is he playing with the typewriters in the newsroom? Why is he in our anchorwoman’s dressing room, watching them tile her shower? Why is he giving the tabloids a heyday of speculation?
What are you doing?”
she demanded, bringing both her hands down on his desk with a bang. “Damn it!” she said then, pushing off the desk. “This is her
life
you’re messing with. Everything that young woman has is riding on this endeavor. And you seem to like Alexandra—that’s what I don’t understand—how you won’t even think twice before putting her career in peril by interfering with every person and process that can help her succeed.”

She flew over to the outer-office door and threw it open. “Could someone please call my office and have Chi Chi bring up this morning’s clippings on Alexandra? Right now? Thank you.” She slammed the door and then walked over to stand by the window, folding her arms. “We might as well go through the whole thing,” she said. “We’ve got to settle this now.” She looked over at Jackson. “Or I might as well leave. Today.”

“Cassy, there’s no reason to start talking of that,” Langley said quietly, pushing his glasses farther up his nose. He turned to Jackson. “Is there, Jack?” When Jackson didn’t say anything (he was staring down at his desk), Langley added, “I think there’s been just a little misunderstanding about territory.”

Cassy covered her face with one hand and laughed. It did not sound like very happy laughter.

Langley shoved his hand in his pocket and started jingling the change in it, nervously looking back and forth between the two. Jackson was still staring down at his desk and Cassy was staring out at the square.

There was a knock on the door to the cafeteria and then Alexandra peeked in. “Hi,” she said, “may we come in?” Kyle was behind her.

Immediately Jackson’s face changed. “Sure, come on in.”

Alexandra came in, held the door for Kyle and closed it. Then she turned around and, with a huge smile, ran over to throw her arms around Cassy. “They bought it!” she said in a whisper, laughing. She released Cassy and turned to Langley and Jackson and in her normal voice said, “Not only do they think the network can work, but two almost said they thought we might know what we’re doing.” She turned back to Cassy, touching her arm. “Thank God you’re here, that’s all I can say. They never would have believed any of it from any of us.” She turned to Jackson. “Isn’t she the best?”